Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

Evan

E van dismounted his horse in a flurry of motion, the rhythmic pounding of hooves fading behind him as he approached his estate’s grand doors. His morning had been a whirlwind. After spending much of the night debating with Jonathan what could be done about his predicament, the answer had come to him.

Truly, it had been obvious, painfully so. Thus, he’d set off early to try and set his plan into motion, and to his delight it had come about rather splendidly. He could hardly wait to tell Emma the idea he’d had – and while he was at it, he’d also tell her the whole truth about Rose. It was time. Past time, in fact.

As he entered, the steady hum of the household greeted him, but something was amiss. He saw it the moment Brigitte appeared at the top of the stairs, her countenance one of unease.

He handed his gloves and hat to a waiting footman, a growing unease coiling in his stomach. He needed answers—immediately.

“Brigitte!” he called sharply, the sound carrying through the vast entry hall.

The maid came down the stairs and as she did, he saw the worry in her eyes. Her dark hair slightly askew, as though she had been fretting or rushing about. Her expression was pinched with worry, and she clutched a shawl tightly in her hands.

“Your Grace,” she said breathlessly, dipping a brief curtsy but stepping closer than propriety might allow, her anxiousness palpable.

Evan’s brows furrowed as he looked her over. “Where is Her Grace?” he demanded. “I must speak with her.”

Brigitte hesitated, the words clearly catching in her throat. “She… she left, Your Grace. I tried to stop her, but?—”

“Left?” Evan’s voice sharpened, his composure unraveling. “What do you mean, left? Where did she go?”

“I—I do not know,” Brigitte admitted in a rush, wringing the shawl in her hands. “She returned from seeing her sisters, went straight to her chamber, and was quiet for some time. But then she emerged looking distressed—fierce, as if something was driving her, though she was also crying – it was peculiar. She said she was leaving and hurried away with a small bag with clothing. When I begged to accompany her, she insisted—insisted!—I remain here.”

His eyes narrowed. “She left alone?”

“Yes,” Brigitte replied, her voice thick with guilt. “She would not hear of anyone joining her. She said she needed to be alone, that it was something she had to do for herself.”

Evan's lips pressed into a grim line, and his tone grew icy. “When did this happen?”

“Two hours ago, perhaps less. She left through the east garden gate; I saw her myself.”

Brigitte’s hands trembled slightly, and her voice dropped to a pleading whisper. “Your Grace, she was not herself. She looked so hurt, so… betrayed. Please, what has happened? Why would she run off so suddenly?”

Evan didn’t answer. He turned sharply, heading toward the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time until he reached Emma’s chambers. Throwing the door open, he was met with an unsettling stillness.

The room bore no sign of disorder. Everything appeared in its place—except for the bed, where a bundle of papers lay scattered atop the coverlet. One piece had been unfolded, left open as though in deliberate display.

Crossing the room in long strides, Evan snatched up the letter, the unmistakable words in flowing script piercing him like a dagger. It was Rose’s letter—his Rose.

Each word on the page betrayed an intimacy he could never explain away, a deep bond carefully concealed yet now laid bare for Emma to see. She had read this—he was sure of it. She knew.

A storm of emotions roared through him: guilt, regret, and fear. Searching the room once more, he looked for any indication of where she might have gone, though the answer was already clear. Emma wasn’t one to wallow silently in solitude. She would seek out her sisters or more likely her brother, Alexander. She’d want to be somewhere she felt …perhaps not save as she had not felt that way at her old home. But something that was familiar.

Without another thought, Evan turned on his heel and bounded back down the stairs, nearly colliding with Brigitte at the bottom.

“She has gone to Alexander’s, I am certain,” he said brusquely, brushing past her.

“Will she be safe?” Brigitte called after him, her voice trembling.

Evan stopped but didn’t turn around. “I intend to find out.”

Moments later, he was mounted and galloping toward the sprawling countryside, the powerful steed eating up the distance beneath him. Every pounding hoofbeat echoed the urgency in his chest, driving him forward.

The journey to Alexander’s estate stretched into eternity, though in reality, it was no more than twenty minutes. Thoughts warred in his mind as the wind stung his face. Should he have been honest sooner? Should he have kept better control of his carefully curated secrets? All that was clear now was that Emma had to hear his explanation.

Finally, the imposing facade of Alexander’s grand home loomed ahead. Urging his horse faster, Evan’s resolve solidified. He wouldn’t lose Emma—not to her anger, not to her pain, not to the remnants of his past. Whatever it took, he would make things right.

Evan’s heart hammered as Alexander’s estate loomed closer, the afternoon sky turning gray with an ominous promise of rain. His ride had been relentless, every thundering hoofbeat echoing the storm inside his chest.

She knows. She knows, and I may have lost her.

He dismounted with haste, barely waiting for the groom to take his reins. His boots crunched against the gravel as he made for the door. He didn’t bother knocking, bursting through with the urgency of a man fighting against time.

Alexander was in the hall, his broad frame blocking the path. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes narrowing the moment they landed on Evan. Without waiting for Evan to utter the question, Alexander answered it.

“She’s here,” Alexander said, his voice like steel. “But she won’t see you.”

Evan ignored the words, his gaze sweeping past Alexander. “Where is she? I must see her. Now.”

Alexander stepped forward, his presence an imposing barrier. “Please, listen to me. She doesn’t want to see you. She came here for refuge, not for another confrontation.”

Evan’s temper flared, his fists clenching at his sides. “Alexander, I am her husband. I will not let her hide from me due to a misunderstanding. I can explain everything to her. Please! I know she must think me a rake and a philandering liar but…”

“Are you not? Did not you receive a love letter from a mistress?” Alexander demanded.

“I did not. Where is she? I am her husband.”

Alexander studied him, his features a mask of cautious calculation. The moment stretched unbearably before he finally relented. His shoulders sagged slightly, and his expression softened.

“Stay here,” Alexander said. “I’ll speak to her. Perhaps she’ll agree to see you once I’ve had a word.”

Evan gave a terse nod, pacing the foyer while Alexander turned and headed down the corridor. The waiting gnawed at his nerves, every second feeling like an hour. He stared out a nearby window, the tension coursing through him as the day’s events played over in his mind—Rose, the letters, Emma’s hurt.

Alexander returned, his steps hurried, his expression tight with concern.

“She’s gone,” he said abruptly.

Evan stopped pacing and turned, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

Alexander pressed a hand to his temple in frustration. “She must have overheard us,” he said. “One of the footmen saw her rushing toward the stables. She left moments ago.”

The words dropped between them like a hammer. Evan’s mind whirled as alarm sparked in his chest. “Did she say where she was going?”

Alexander shook his head. “No. She only told the stable hand she wanted to clear her mind.”

“She rode away?” Evan said. “She hardly likes riding on my most tame horse. What has possessed her?”

“I think you know. Please, just wait here. She will return in due course,” Alexander said but Evan shook his head. He had to explain. It could not wait….He’d already waited too long.

“Which way to the stable?” Evan demanded. Alexander sighed and pointed but he could say nothing as Evan was already moving, striding toward the stables. As he approached, he saw a stable boy hovering nearby, looking sheepish and afraid.

“Your… Your Grace….” He stammered, surprising Evan for he hadn’t expected the stable boy to know who he was. He’d hardly ever been here after all.

“Which way did she go?” Evan demanded, his tone sharp enough to send the boy stumbling over his words. “My wife?”

“T-toward the east wood, Your Grace,” the boy stammered. “She rode fast—said not to follow her.”

Evan’s gut churned as he vaulted onto his own mount, which had been brought around from the front of the house. His hands tightening on the reins as he spurred the horse into a gallop. The wind tore at his coat and whipped against his face as he rode, his mind a whirl of panic and regret. She wasn’t a good rider and the sky hung low with clouds – indicating another downpour, if not perhaps another storm.

The hours had stretched on agonizingly since Emma had ridden away, each passing minute thick with dread. The daylight was fading fast, casting long shadows across the gravel drive. Evan's heart grew heavier by the moment—something was amiss. It was unlike Emma to stay out for so long, particularly as night approached. Standing in the courtyard of Alexander’s estate, he clenched the reins of his horse so tightly his knuckles were ashen. Beside him, Alexander barked commands to the servants, his expression grim as he coordinated their search.

Evan had already dispatched Jonathan, Harry, and Edwin, summoning them to assist, but no word had come back. They had not found her. The air, heavy with anxiety, seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Emma's sisters, Arabella and Hanna, stood near the doorway, their faces as pale as ghosts. Arabella was quiet, her lips drawn tight with worry, but it was Hanna who stepped forward, her fiery spirit impossible to contain.

“This is your doing,” she spat, her voice seething with accusation as she pointed at Evan. “Emma ran because of you.”

Evan’s heart skipped a beat, the words catching him off guard. He drew in a sharp breath, his pulse quickening. “What do you mean?” he asked, the question escaping more urgently than he intended. Had Alexander told his sisters about the letter?

Hanna did not flinch. “I saw you, Evan. At Vauxhall Gardens, several days ago. You were with another woman.” Her voice trembled, thick with both fury and the raw pain of betrayal. “I told Emma about it. She deserved to know and now she’s run away because of you.”

The words struck Evan like a sudden blow, the horror sinking into him as though he had been struck senseless. His thoughts reeled, and an understanding slowly dawned.

But amid the flood of guilt, his mind flashed back to that night. Rose. For of course, it had been Rose. There was no other woman he kept company with but Emma and Rose.

Evan’s voice was low but firm. “You’re right. I was with another woman.” Gasps sounded from the gathered crowd, and Hanna’s expression turned triumphant, though tinged with pain. “But it’s not what you think,” Evan continued, his gaze steady on hers. “I will explain everything—every detail—once Emma is safe. Right now, that is all that matters.”

Hanna’s glare softened, and after a long pause, she gave a curt nod. “Fine. Find her.”

Evan turned back to his horse, his resolve hardening. He swung into the saddle as the men mounted their own steeds. “We’ll spread out,” he ordered. “Search every likely place she might go. Check the woods, the streams, anywhere she could be seeking solitude. Even if you know a place was already searched, so again. The first party might have missed her. I might have. Make haste.”

As the party divided, Evan took a path that led toward the old monastery on the edge of the estate. The place was steeped in history and quiet serenity, a refuge he and Emma had visited before.

She wouldn’t go there, would she?

It seemed improbable—it had been a place of tentative joy for them, not a sanctuary for heartbreak. But something tugged at him, a whisper of intuition that he couldn’t ignore.

The trail to the monastery was overgrown, the path winding through dense thickets and underbrush. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and crimson, the light slipping away faster than he liked. The trees cast shifting shadows across his path, heightening his unease.

Suddenly, a horse emerged from the trees ahead, galloping toward him riderless. Evan’s heart seized. It was the gray gelding, its reins trailing and its eyes wild with panic.

“No,” he breathed, his pulse spiking.

Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, his mind racing with dread. The thought of Emma lying injured—or worse—sent a wave of anguish crashing over him.

The monastery came into view, its crumbling stone walls framed by ivy and overgrowth. He spotted her then—a figure crumpled on the ground near the entrance. His heart stopped as he dismounted, stumbling toward her.

“Emma!” he cried, falling to his knees beside her.

Her form was limp, her hair spilling across her face, a deep gash on her forehead staining her pale skin with blood. She was unconscious, her breaths faint but steady. Relief warred with terror as he gently touched her cheek, his fingers trembling. “Emma, please,” he whispered. “Please, open your eyes.”

She didn’t stir. Evan’s chest tightened as he assessed her injuries—a bruise blooming on her temple, scrapes on her hands. It was clear she had fallen from the horse, likely thrown in its panic.

He gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he rose to his feet. Her head lolled against him, her body heavier than usual in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “This is my fault. All of it.”

The ride back to Alexander’s estate was a blur of desperation. Evan rode with one arm wrapped securely around Emma, his other hand guiding the horse with single-minded determination. He didn’t stop, didn’t think—his only goal was to get her to safety.

When he arrived, the household erupted into chaos. Arabella and Hanna ran forward, their faces etched with horror as they saw Emma’s still form. Servants rushed to prepare a room, and a doctor was summoned with all possible haste.

Evan carried her inside, refusing to let anyone else touch her. He laid her gently on the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face as the doctor began his examination.

As the minutes ticked by, Evan stood vigil by her bedside, his hands clenched into fists. Every breath she took was a fragile lifeline, tethering him to hope. He had failed her—failed to protect her, to trust her with the truth. And now, as he gazed at her pale face, he vowed to make amends.

This wasn’t just about Rose or the secrets he had kept. This was about Emma—his wife, his mate, the woman who had begun to claim his heart. Whatever it took, he would find a way to heal the wounds between them. But first, she had to wake.

And until she did, he would not leave her side.